“when I die, do not waste a minute mourning me. I may go, but I will leave behind all my thousand & one lives” – a bookmad girl never dies. –
and everyone wants to read the poem
we’re afraid to write.
If we try to see something positive in everything we do, life won’t necessarily become easier but it becomes more valuable.
She was a beautiful dreamer. The kind of girl, who kept her head in the clouds, loved above the stars and left regret beneath the earth she walked on.
So, the world happens twice–
once what we see it as;
second it legends itself
deep, the way it is.
No map to help us find the tranquil flat lands, clearings calm, fields without mean fences. Rolling down the other side of life our compass is the sureness of ourselves. Time may make us rugged, ragged round the edges, but know and understand that love is still the safest place to land.
In the end it will be your “Actions
She was born of space.
But she bled wrath.
[From Current Work In Progress]
Poetry contains few words but tells much. Its beauty is that by being condensed it is rich in meaning and open to various interpretations. Unlike prose, there is no boundary to poetry. There is nothing concrete or black and white. Poetry is mutable; it is transformative. Poetry is the alchemy of hearts. And what cannot be said in prose can sometimes be only said through poetry.
Every person has his secret; in reverie, unbeknown to others, he finds peace, freedom, sorrow and love.